


thaumaturgy, the performance of miracles

by fatali_tais



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Demon Jung Hoseok | J-Hope, Demon Park Jimin (BTS), Demons, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Kim Namjoon | RM & Kim ARMY are siblings, Lee Jihoon | Woozi is Whipped, M/M, Min Yoongi | Suga & Min Yoonji & Lee Jihoon | Woozi are Cousins, Werewolves, Witch Kim Seokjin | Jin, Witch Min Yoongi | Suga, Witch Min Yoonji, Witchcraft, black magic, i don't know how magic works, kim army is called namju, the min-lee cousins are a disaster
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:54:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29581266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatali_tais/pseuds/fatali_tais
Summary: alternate title: the svt-bts magic au nobody wanted but mein which the universe performs a thaumaturgy on lee jihoon's formerly peaceful life, and chwe hansol rides in with the chaos
Relationships: Chwe Hansol | Vernon/Lee Jihoon | Woozi, Jeon Wonwoo/Kim Mingyu, Kim ARMY/Min Yoonji, Kim Seokjin | Jin/Min Yoongi | Suga
Kudos: 1





	thaumaturgy, the performance of miracles

**Author's Note:**

> hi
> 
> i know  
> i'm supposed to be working on other fics  
> but this one will be fun, i swear 
> 
> also this is my first time writing in svt officially, so it might not be the best  
> please bear with me
> 
> also, yes. this will have a lot of mild descriptions of gore in it, so please read with caution
> 
> i hope you enjoy :)  
> -tai

lee jihoon awoke to the sound of a heavy, earth-shattering thud that half-jerked his head up off his pillow. he knew what that thud was before he even opened his eyes, having heard it too many times within the past month to be even remotely terrified. his eyes slowly slid open, first into blurry slits, then half-lidded, staring up at swinging talismans that hung from the rafters, fluttering at every _thud._ he could hear the sticky squeak of bare feet outside his door, multiple voices talking in varying degrees of panic, and the repetitive _whack-whack-whack_ of a tack hammer. he lay there for a moment, trying to cling to the last wisps of sleep, not wanting to emerge and have to face whatever the morning had decided to throw at him. but, ultimately, after another, louder thud, jihoon groaned, and pulled himself out of bed. 

havoc had exploded in the kitchen. jihoon eyed the mess from his doorway, at the glass shards scattered over the floor in jagged pieces, the remains of two of the four wards originally stuck on the windowsill laying slain amongst them. it took a moment for the mess to register in jihoon’s tired brain. he stared at the floor blankly, then dragged his gaze up to the gaping hole in the window, which hoseok was plastered against now, tack hammer moving so fast it was a blur, hammering in nails into crooked wooden boards. yoonji was ducking in between his flailing limbs, smacking fresh wards onto the boards, ink dripping onto her fingers as she scribbled more with her calligraphy brush, ink stone wedged awkwardly in the crook of her elbow. 

yoongi was over on the other side of the room, burning wolfsbane in large bunches and fanning it with a comically large fan, creating a god-awful fog of smoke that clung to every surface of the kitchen. he was cursing, coughing loudly, sending embers shooting up at every gust from his fan. it must be a werewolf attacking the house, then. yoongi wouldn’t be using wolfsbane if it was anything else. 

jihoon took this all in slowly, then started to turn around to retreat to the cold darkness of his room. unfortunately, hoseok spotted him just as he was shutting his door. 

“ji!” his voice was high with panic, which wasn’t unusual for him. his hammer still going a hundred miles an hour. “get over here!” 

yoonji spared a glance up from her wards, ink smudged over her cheek in an angry blotch. she was wearing a scowl and a sleep mask on her forehead. she must’ve been pulled out of bed by hoseok earlier. she didn’t look pleased about it. she pinned jihoon to the spot with a fierce glower, a silent demand for him to pitch in. 

jihoon sighed, a long, suffering sound, then picked his way across the floor. the straw mats that were kept across the ground for warmth had been shoved to the seams of the walls. yoongi clearly hadn’t wanted to get ink on them, which was a little picky, in jihoon’s opinion. they were fighting against a werewolf, and his eldest cousin’s first thought was to protect the mats. _typical._ he grunted, moving slowly across the ground, trying to avoid the glass shards. 

he was barely within range of the window before a huge, bloodied paw broke through the barrier of wooden slats, groping wildly, claws the size of jihoon’s neck. hoseok screamed, a shrill, terrified noise, and ducked away, barely missing being impaled by the skin of his nose. 

yoonji moved in a flash, calligraphy brush twirling fast in her fingers, turning into a silver dagger curved like a crescent. the dagger came down in a deadly slash, catching the paw in an arch, drawing a spurt of blood and cutting away tufts of rough fur. the werewolf outside howled in pain, the noise shaking the house, but, astonishingly, wasn’t deterred. it shoved its huge forearm further through the splintered hole, claws grasping at the air, dripping with blood. yoonji recoiled equally as fast, eyes wide in sudden panic. 

jihoon sprung forwards without thought, like he often did. he shoved his palm against the gash, grimacing at the hot, thick feeling of blood against his skin, then channeled every inch of magic in his body. the sigils carved into his skin burned, a fierce, peppery burn, shooting up his arm in a tingling ache, then released through the sigil carved into his palm in a roar, burning the werewolf. the reaction was instantaneous. the monster ripped it paw back, skin sizzling, and fell back against the cobblestone outside with a thump, howling. 

he held his hand to his chest, gritting his teeth at the remaining barbs of his magic that lashed around inside his arm, moving out the way as hoseok took the opportunity to hammer a board across the window, arms flying to fish nails out of the toolbox and hold the plank steady. yoonji’s dagger twirled back into a brush and slashed a ward against the bare board, not bothering with the paper anymore. the werewolf outside howled again, raw, and pained, almost enough to prick a little sympathy deep in jihoon’s heart, then scraped its claws against the ground as it made its retreat in heavy, limping steps. there was a bated beat of silence as they all listened for any more signs of an attack, the room holding its breath. then exhaled in relief. 

yoongi’s footsteps crinkled against the glass as he padded over to join them, the sound loud and echoing in jihoon’s ears. his hand throbbed again. his magic was causing him as much pain as it had for the were. it roared under his sigils, burning bright and hot, twisting into his bones and muscle in a writhe. it was only tempered slightly under a containment ward yoonji slapped onto his wrist, holding up his arm to do so. her fingers were shaking against his skin. that attack must’ve scared the shit out of her, even more so when her knife did nothing to dissuade the creature’s will. jihoon brushed his non-aching fingers down her arm, trying to reassure her. 

yoongi’s own hand joined the mix, silver charm bracelets jingling at every movement, patting the ward on jihoon’s wrist. “you okay?” his voice was rough from the smoke, and he smelled terrible. but jihoon didn’t comment, just nodded his head a little dumbly, eyes flicking from yoongi’s to the hole in the window. 

hoseok hammered another board, nails sticking out of his mouth like pins, then stopped to take a step back and look at his shoddy craftsmanship. “this won’t be enough, yoongs,” he turned his head, red hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. he seemed out of breath, and jihoon figured he hadn’t done this much hard labour since they had built the house. “it’ll just break them again the next time it comes back.” 

right. it was going to come back. this had been its fifth attack within a week. the were obviously wasn’t going to quit until it got whatever it wanted. yoongi let out a breath, echoing how tired jihoon suddenly felt, then smushed a hand over his face. “we’ll just have to do what we can, ‘seok. not like we know anyone who can make enchanted windows.” 

“that’s your plan?” yoonji piped up, moving her hand away from jihoon, who suddenly missed the cool comfort of her touch, and plucking a ripped ward off the tatters of boards. “you see this?” she held it up, obviously annoyed. “this was a grade-a ward. it should’ve been strong enough to keep out weres, but it wasn’t. and you want us to just,” she gestured with her hands, the scrap of paper flapping. “keep boarding the windows up? you’re insane.” 

"i don’t see you offering any better ideas.” yoongi snapped back. 

jihoon felt a headache coming on. “you guys, stop. you’ve been having the same argument for _weeks_.” 

they ignored him. 

he gave up. god, it was like being stuck in the house with children. jihoon crunched his way back along the floor, grumbling to himself, arm still clutched close to his chest. he wanted a coffee. he _needed_ a coffee. he filled the kettle with one hand, pumping the sink handle for water, grumbling louder about how outdated their appliances were, how they needed a new sink, new pipes, despite nobody listening to him. hoseok had joined in the argument now, voice an octave higher than yoongi and yoonji’s, giving his two cents’ worth of advice. it was all counter-productive, jihoon grumbled to the brass kettle in his hand, gingerly setting it on the old gas burner. all their arguments were. they got nowhere with them and ended up just falling back to boarding up the window anyway. 

he kept complaining under his breath as he cranked the gas on, listening to its _tik-tik-tik_ , lighting it with the red lighter they kept on the counter, flicking it a couple of times until the flame spluttered into life. _there’s no peace and goddamn quiet in this fucking house_ , he told the lighter in his hand, flicking it back out. _nobody s_ _huts up_. maybe it was rich of him to complain, he supposed as an afterthought, fishing out a large, ugly mug from the cabinet. because he was notorious for not shutting up. it was a min-lee family trait, something none of them could escape. except hoseok, but he chose not to. 

the argument was reaching its close when the kettle whistled, bubbling and boiling almost as shrilly as hoseok’s scream. jihoon, in a grudging manner, had taken out their four cups and lined them up across the cluttered counter, and, after picking up the kettle, went about making their brews. tea for hoseok (seokjin’s oolong blend, milk, one sugar), pitch black coffee for yoonji and himself, and latte for yoongi (two sugars, a decent amount of milk). 

his arm gave a twinge, and he put the kettle down to rub it, fingers brushing over the ward and across the uneven, jagged ridges and dips of his sigils. they had been carved on, of course, way back before tattoos were an option. yoonji had been the one to do it, as she was the best with the blade, copying carefully from the old book laid in front of her, yoongi on the other side to hold jihoon down. hoseok hadn’t been able to stand being in the room, which was a little ironic, with him being a demon and all. 

jihoon’s fingers traced over the raised scars, flexing the muscles of his wrist, feeling the magic flicker. he knew what every sigil was without looking. the one cut into his palm was _release_ , the one snaking down the soft underside of his wrist was _channel_ , the ones peppered over the back of his hand up to his shoulder were variations of _channel_ , _flow,_ _contain,_ and they all led up to the one spread over his chest in a spiraling circle, reaching out with curved arms and rings. _power_. he patted the flat patch where it lay under his shirt, once, twice, then stirred in the appropriate amounts of sugar into yoongi’s coffee. 

he had just finished when yoonji’s ink-stained hand reached over his left shoulder to snag her mug, yoongi’s own hand following suit. they didn’t verbally thank him, and he didn’t expect them to. he was happy with yoonji bumping her hip against his in thanks, and yoongi silently whisking the kettle back to its place on the stove top. only hoseok voiced his appreciation as jihoon crossed the still glass-covered floor to place the other’s striped mug next to him on the table. jihoon just grunted in response, sitting across from him and tucking his cold feet under his body. the fire wasn’t enough to heat the room now that there was a hole in the house, and the smell of burnt wolfsbane still lingered heavily, floating over on drafts of cold air to tickle jihoon’s nose and make him cough. 

there was a beat of appreciative silence, broken only by an occasional cough, everyone enjoying their morning brews. jihoon took this opportunity to glance around the table at his family. yoongi and yoonji were his cousins, both from his mother’s side, and they themselves were cousins, despite their remarkable similarities. people thought they were twins, and jihoon didn’t blame them. they dressed alike, talked alike, and had the same resting face that made them look like twin murderers. 

but they were different. yoongi, now tilting his chair slightly back, coffee nestled in his hands, was a black witch. he used body parts with his magic; bones, teeth, eyes, hair, blood. he mixed them into his magic, muddling together ink and blood to make sigils and wards, crumbling bones into ash and smudging it along the ground with a charcoal stick in circles to summon demons. his magic was strong, the strongest in the family. he was the only one who had had the power to summon a familiar, hoseok, in the form of a hellcat, six legs like tree trunks, curled goat horns, a split grin jagged with fangs. yoongi’s magic was smudging and thick, like smoke, and smelled like blood. 

yoonji was a white witch, the only in the family. specifically, a moon witch. she had crescents and cycles tattooed down her spine, channeling her magic. she wasn’t as active of a witch, being too busy with high school to bother with refining her skills, but she was powerful already. she didn’t rely on her magic too much however, preferring to stick to inking. her magic was smooth and cool, like mint, and it settled on jihoon’s shoulders like a breeze. 

hoseok was a nuisance, a direct quote from yoongi, but meant in the most affectionate of ways, jihoon was sure. it wasn’t that he wasn’t a helpful sort of demon (he was arguably the most helpful in the household), but he was useless when it came to yoongi’s work. hoseok steered well clear of the eldest min whenever he was pottering around in his studio downstairs, claiming that the smell of his magic made him feel sick. he wasn’t good at summoning sigils, couldn’t help with client requests, and steadfastly refused to collect supplies. a truly terrible familiar, but a decent guy. 

hoseok spoke up now, sipping his tea through a honest to god straw, and obviously unaware of the violations he was committing against the geneva convention. “with the were,” he said slowly, making room for the slurp of his straw that made jihoon’s skin crawl. “do we know what it’s after?” 

a thoughtful beat. then yoonji pulled out her phone. “i’ll google it.” 

“why do you need to google everything?” yoongi sounded annoyed, clearly not over their argument. “you know they steal your data, right?” 

“when i have any interesting data, i’ll stop googling.” yoonji didn’t look up from her phone. jihoon could see from his position that she wasn’t googling, just opening a chat from namju. he leaned over to see better, noticing a sizeable amount of heart emojis, before yoonji caught on and angled her phone away, glaring at him. he raised his hands in surrender, then slumped back into his seat. 

“don’t weres gravitate towards magic?” he asked suddenly, the realisation kicking his tired brain into gear. his arm throbbed again at the mention of magic, but he shook it away impatiently, searching his memory for where he could’ve read this information. “like... moths to a flame? isn’t that a thing?” 

yoongi sat up a little taller, then frowned. “where’d you hear that?” 

“some book in the library,” jihoon waved his hand in the general direction of the shelves stacked against the far wall, at the books crammed into the small spaces and piled up on the floor. “why? is it true?” 

his cousin frowned harder, wrinkles dipping across his forehead. he didn’t look very sure. “could be a possibility. i wouldn’t know, i don’t study weres.” 

“should we limit our magic usage then?” hoseok’s voice pitched in alarm. he often complained about how his glamour used up so much of his magic, but he clearly wasn’t jazzed about the thought of having to lapse into his cat form to limit magic. “please don’t tell me i have to be a cat again. i can’t even fit through doorways-“ 

“we’re not limiting our magic use.” yoongi said, firmly, indicating this was the end of the conversation. 

jihoon opened his mouth to say something else, but thought the better of it and closed his mouth again. it made sense that yoongi wasn’t humouring the thought. their livelihood depended on his magic, it was their only consistent flow of income. if yoongi’s services closed down, then... his thoughts trailed off, and he took another slurp of his coffee. 

they sat in silence for a few more minutes, stewing. yoonji was tapping away on her phone, her lips quirking up into a small smile, making jihoon feel the need to be uncharacteristically nosey. but hoseok interrupted before he could lean over to see her screen again. 

“so. what’re we doing today?” he was clearly trying to patch up the silence, a slightly forced smile stuck to his face. 

yoonji didn’t look up from her phone. “school. meeting up with namju at the station at eight thirty.” 

jihoon glanced at the clock on the wall, and frowned. it was already eight o’clock. “shouldn’t you leave now?” 

“nah. when namju says eight thirty, she means nine.” 

that sounded about right. namju kim wasn’t the most organised person. she took after her elder brother in that respect. namjoon kim could say he was coming over in five minutes, and leave them waiting for three months.

yoongi spoke up. “i’ll walk you to the station, yoonji. i don’t want you out alone with that were on the lose.” 

yoonji opened her mouth in protest like jihoon had earlier, but was met with yoongi’s steel gaze. their eyes clashed for a moment, steel against steel, then yoonji looked away. “you’re just saying that ‘cause you know namjoon’s gonna walk namju.” she grumbled, hitting the nail on the head. 

jihoon and hoseok’s eyes flicked to yoongi like they were watching a tennis match, and jihoon swore his cousin’s cheeks turned a light tinge of pink. he looked momentarily flustered. “i- no. that’s not it.” 

“sure.” the youngest cousin couldn’t sound less convinced if she tried. she ignored yoongi’s other, less flustered _"what do you_ mean _sure?”,_ and turned her attention to jihoon, clearly ready to change the conversation. “what’re you doing.” 

he blinked, caught off guard, then shrugged “i don’t know. figured i should go over to wonwoo’s and give him his voice.” 

wonwoo’s voice was jihoon’s new project, so to speak. even though he didn’t dabble in the art of voice. voices were tricky, fiddly things, hard to replicate and hard to even know where to begin, in some cases. but he couldn’t say no to mingyu, who had come to him on the verge of tears, and pleaded with him to _please_ _, give him his voice back, ji, i’ll pay anything_ _, anything it takes, anything at all._

jihoon hadn’t had the heart to turn him down. mingyu was in too much of a mess to refuse him. he had been red-eyed, and sniffling with a quivering lower lip. his dedication towards his boyfriend was almost impressive, as he listed what lengths he had gone to to try and get wonwoo’s voice back, everything from scheduling a million appointments to tracking down every magic user in the region. but out of all of them, jihoon had been the only one to say yes. 

and he could see why. voices were a _bitch_ to make, no matter what method you used. and wonwoo wasn’t just under some curse that would wear off, no, his voice was gone _completely_. meaning jihoon had to construct this thing from scratch, with almost no references, because apparently nobody in history had written a single instruction about how to reconstruct a voice. 

so he had had to figure it out, testing out different methods of already existing tricks. the one he was relying heavily on was some sort of sigil. it originally had been a sigil that meant _noise_ , but jihoon had spent the last few months tweaking it and testing it out on wonwoo and himself, before he had somehow crafted a sigil for _voice_. and now, it all depended on the involved, finnicky process of getting the pitch, tone, resonance and texture right. it wasn’t like the sigil had knobs and levers to manipulate, it instead had tiny fractions of ink to correct, that all relied on the pressure of the brush, the stroke, the hand movements... fuck, even then wetness and colour of the ink could affect it. 

he was getting a headache just thinking about it. he rubbed one hand over his forehead, trying to kill the ache before it truly set its teeth in. he hoped this sigil he had made was the one. he prayed it was. he didn’t think he could stand trudging back into his room in defeat to grind more ink and pinch his brush tips. “this one is the one.” he said. “i’m sure of it.” 

another pause. 

“you should take a break, ji.” he didn’t need to look at hoseok to know that the demon’s eyebrows were pulled together in a wrinkle in his forehead. “you’ve been working on his voice for _months_ now. it’s not healthy.” 

“i promised mingyu i’d get it done by wonwoo’s birthday.” he muttered into his hand, well aware about how stupid that promise had been. 

“why'd you do that? you know about the policy.” their coven had a dozen rules, but their golden rule was to _not_ promise _anything_. promises got people’s hopes up, and the last thing anyone needed was someone thinking a witch could ressurect their dead dog because they _promised_. 

“i know, but-” but mingyu had looked so full of hope, and life, and he had tackled jihoon in a giant, clumsy hug filled with a sunshine smile and flailing limbs. and, fuck, jihoon was only human. “he looked so happy. i couldn’t just... _not_ promise.” 

there was a collective sigh, but he was thinking about mingyu and wonwoo’s smiles, mingyu’s like a puppy, wonwoo’s small, and closed-lipped, but beyond grateful. jihoon felt for them, he really did. they were young, too young to be suffering, and obviously in love with each other. they didn’t deserve to suffer like this. 

his musing was interrupted by yoonji, who scraped her chair noisily backwards, kicking glass shards out of her way as she stood. “i’m going. namju’s gonna be on time for once.” 

“i’m coming too,” yoongi’s chair scraped back too. “don’t you dare run off without me.” 

“wouldn’t dream of it.” she was clearly thinking about it. but hoseok gave her a _look_ , and she relented with a sulky ; “ _whatever_ ", kicking more glass away as she disappeared down the corridor, yoongi trailing behind her. 

hoseok stood up too, collecting the abandoned cups with a long-suffering sigh, heaping them into his arms. jihoon shuffled his seat forwards to give him room to squish by, letting him take his cup without protest. 

“hey, ji?” 

jihoon turned his head, angling his body awkwardly between the small space of his chair and the table. 

“yeah?” 

hoseok looked at him for a moment. the demon’s eyes raked over the shadows under his eyes, his bedhead, and made jihoon feel strangely self-conscious. he plastered his hand against his scalp, smoothing out the fly-aways, hoseok’s eyes still burning into his head. 

“wonwoo’s birthday is today.” 

and then he left, leaving jihoon sitting at the table. 

_fuck_. 


End file.
